Make Love not Law Review

Peggy has some important job with the Texas Law Fellowship, an organization which somehow helps out law students who go into the public interest sector; because my understanding of the specifics are hazy, I will remain vague. But whatever her role, it left her with many t-shirts, mugs, and other swag branded "Make Love not Law Review." My understanding of how this relates to public interest law is hazy, but its a great slogan and I am considered adopting it as my personal motto.

I love running in the T-shirt Peggy gave me. I also like to run in my Pope tshirt, and "makelovenotlawreiew" just kicks the pope's booty in terms of attractive gym wear. Unlike the pope shirt, which flares out around my hips, giving me lovely accentuated saddle bags, "law review" fits just well enough to be flattering without being too tight to comfortably sweat in. Also, wearing a shirt that says something cloy about law school makes me look both smart enough to get into law school and irreverent in a fun way, which is sort of the opposite of the connotation of a pope shirt, which says "I don't believe in premarital sex so don't even ask."

Anyway, today I ran three miles on the Memorial trail (go me! woo woo!) and that was awesome, and it left me awesomely drenched. The obvious thing to do when you get so sweaty that dumping a glass of water on your head doesn't leave a wet spot on your shirt because the whole shirt is that wet is to change clothes. However, it is Houston in the summer and I've been showering and changing clothes three times a day and I'm so over it. So I just went ahead and wore that wet shirt to Sbucks and the dog park.

Apparently, all the middle aged lawyers in the neighborhood start their mornings at Sbucks around 8:30. I just tried to get out with my free iced coffee (it looks good, doesn't it?) in time for Luigi not to overheat in the car, a challenge because my shirt was such a hit. Its definitely funny, but those lawyers were so excited that I can tell the bar is set pretty low for law comedy. (I guess there are only so many jokes that involve the word "bar.") One guy laughed really hard and just kept saying, "that brings back memories." He looked old enough to have actually protested Vietnam, but then he asked me if I was a third year or if I had finished, and it became obvious that he was so impressed because he thought of law school as a war. All I have to say about that is good luck to Peggy, being a young attractive lawyer in this town full of old, unattractive men who think that having law school in common is enough to warrant a conversation. (Yeah, the law puns just keep coming.)

So, armed with my icy beverage, I drove on, SuperLuigi perched on the sunroof opening, tongue flying. And who arrived at the park the same time we did but some dude I went to high school with and haven't seen since. Now I know how my mother used to feel when she would run into acquaintances at the coffee shop after her runs. I was totally distracted by the fact that I probably smelled like severe BO. Also, I have no idea what dog park etiquette is. You can't really just say hi and then go on your way like the mall or a restaurant. Are you supposed to talk the whole time you're there? When you run out of pleasantries, is it rude to walk your dog away down the trail? Do you wait when the other person has to go and pick up poop? "Excuse me, my dog is taking a crap over there and your dog seems really excited about smelling and eating it." How do you politely say that? I feel all this rendered me only half the conversationalist.

But by far the highlight of the dog park was the new toy Aunt Trish gave me for Luigi, the chuckit. Practicing at home last night I repeatedly had problems with the release and sent the ball into the swimming pool. Justifiably, I was a bit worried about appearing completely uncoordinated as the park, full of people who are adept with their dog toys. After a prelude explaining that it was a new toy and hopefully absolving me of any misfires, I picked up a tennis ball and launched it into an open area by the dog pond. It was a release I felt proud of with a good amount of power behind it, and I looked up to see the ball fly fast and high off the ground, right into some guy's leg.

It was really funny, and I was really embarrassed. If the dude had even flinched I would have yelled an apology, but since he didn't look around I didn't. I just laughed so hard I had to take a conversation break. William noted, there was nothing to feel bad about because that guy had clipped his Doberman's ears. He totally deserved getting zinged in the ankle.

So, I will leave you with a few words of advise. No.1: if you want to wear sweaty clothes anywhere but the trail or the gym, be ready to have long conversations in them. No.2: if you perform elective surgery on your pets, beware. I'll be watching, ready to chuck a tennis ball at you. My speed and aim are improving exponentially, so that is no empty threat.